FOR THE NEXT ten minutes Quinn lurked by the window above the sink, peering into the swirling snow and gathering gloom. “Stubborn donkey,” she repeated for the tenth time. Why wouldn’t Wilder accept her offer of help? Must be some sort of manly display, a depressing notion when she’d been so fascinated by him for months. And when she mentioned the book orders he had skimmed over her statement as if they meant nothing.
Now he was out in a blizzard, slipping and swearing, doing a job she could have easily finished by now.
If she had one pet peeve in this world, it was a macho man.
From the spare room, her father gave a wet snort and a few lip smacks followed by a lengthy snore. There it came again, that niggling pang of guilt. As much as she was annoyed by the present situation, she was also undeniably grateful. Wilder Kane might be gruff and surly as heck, but he’d given her father refuge, and what’s more, calmed and fed him. Dad actually fell asleep, something she couldn’t even manage when he started to get agitated.
At last the front door blew open and the heavy limping sound came down the narrow, short hallway.
“All good?” She propped a hand on the mantel above the hearth as if she hadn’t been checking on him.
He gave a curt nod, slinging his jacket on the back of a dining chair. “I didn’t need a babysitter.”
Darn. He’d totally busted her spying. She crossed to the table and picked up the small wooden horsehead that he’d been whittling. “This is nice.”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged, brushing snow from his thick, glossy hair.
Another object lay on the table. A half-finished castle. “Are these all chess pieces?”
“Yeah.”
“Fun with Whittling.” She tried for her best smile. “I got that order in the mail for you today. Didn’t know I’d be paying you a house call or I could have saved you some postage.”
He moved to the oven and stared into a pot. “You didn’t eat any stew.”
“Not hungry, thanks. I’m a snacker, low blood sugar and all. I nibble on dry cereal throughout the day, pack sandwich bags of Corn Pops and Fruity Pebbles. My taste buds haven’t graduated from the third grade, it’s a problem. Anyway, why do you place book orders if you live this close to town? Why not come into the store? Won’t one of your brothers take you? How do you shop?”
His brows contracted at her game of twenty questions. “Don’t like charity. Sawyer brings groceries in once a week. Otherwise, I keep to myself.”
“You have a dog?”
“No.” He sounded wary.
“Cat?”
“No.”
“Hamster?”
“Nothing.” Exasperation laced the word.
“Not even a houseplant?” She threw up her hands. “A Christmas cactus or a couple of philodendrons could go a long way to cheering things up around here. Don’t you ever get lonely?”
He looked as if he was about to answer in the affirmative before turning away to frown at the fire. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Sorry, I’m sort of a Chatty Cathy.” Especially when nervous.
He rubbed the back of his neck. While he was big, grumpy, and unsmiling, Wilder wasn’t unattractive. Not at all. In fact he was rather good-looking. His profile was strong, ruthless, as if he was a Caesar of old. Bold and brutish. Maybe not the type she normally went for, but somehow appealing.
Quite appealing actually.
He turned, unexpectedly meeting her gaze, and she fumbled, the castle slipping through her fingers and clattering on the tabletop.
What was wrong with her? He wasn’t even nice. She was nice. At least most of the time. Friendly and a natural extrovert. She liked people and people seemed to like her.
Unless they were married to a randy celebrity who had tried to proposition her.
Or sported the initials W. K.
“Would you mind sitting down?” She drilled her fingers on the table. “You’re making me a little edgy with all that looming. Hence the gab.”
He looked startled, as if he never considered that, and leaned against the far wall, as far away from her as he could get in the small space. His body tensed as if preparing for a fight rather than a little pass-the-time small talk. “I’d rather stand if that’s all right by you. More comfortable.”
Couldn’t argue with that. The silence continued until her teeth were set on edge. No point beating around the bush. Might as well satisfy her curiosity. “So you’re a reader?”
He nodded with a touch of impatience. “You know the answer.”
“I’ve wondered about who you were over the last few months because your choices are always so diverse. Most people like to read similar stuff. Occasionally they might get in the mood for something different, but you are impossible to pin down. Every genre. Big authors, almost undiscovered ones. Kid-lit to poetry.”
He mumbled something that sounded like “the list.”
“What list?”
He tilted his head, regarding her for a moment, before grabbing a notebook off the mantel. Flipping it open, he removed a newspaper clipping. “The list,” he repeated, limping over to lay it on the table.
She glanced down. “ ‘1001 Books to Read before You Die’? That was the big mystery?” What a simple explanation. She didn’t know whether to laugh or be disappointed.
“I have a lot of time on my hands so am working my way down title by title. Wasn’t ever meant to be mysterious. It’s just a by-product of boredom.” He sounded defensive, his features set in a scowl.
She cocked her head. “You know, you can drop the sullen, gruff act anytime. You don’t scare me.”
“No?” He had a gaze that cut through her flesh, straight to the bone.
Maybe he’d be better off doing scrimshaw than whittling.
She feigned calm. Something did scare her about him and it wasn’t his glower. It was the way her heart picked up a few extra beats, the pressure building in her thighs. It was all she could do to keep from trembling. How long had it been since she responded with this sort of physicality to a guy? A long time.
And never this quickly.
She had worked in a town that peddled fantasy. Everyone had their celebrity crushes, would argue over so-and-so hot guy versus so-and-so hot guy. And that’s fine, but nothing she could ever get into. She didn’t fangirl over faces or have stargasms. She always went for a guy who could make her laugh. Sitcom screenwriters and the like.
This guy? She wasn’t laughing with Wilder, not by a long shot. Instead every molecule in her body was hyperaware and her stomach warmed with a happy, soft feeling. The whole thing was so cliché and probably not even real. These weird bodily sensations probably wouldn’t be happening if he had fluorescent kitchen lights. Anything seemed possible by flickering firelight.
She cleared her throat. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit?”
“I sat for a long time this year. I’d be happy to never sit down again.”
“So this is new for you, the leg?”
He took a moment to reply, long enough she wondered if he’d ignore the question. “Lost it in late July.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I was rather attached to it.”
An inward jolt struck her core at his unexpected and fleeting smile. He’d made a joke. Oh God, he could be funny too?
Then he really was dangerous.
Chapter Five
QUINN UNZIPPED HER jacket, pausing halfway. “You don’t mind, do you? Seeing as I’m staying, at least for a while.”
“No.” Yes. Because the minute she slid out of that white, puffy coat her breathtaking body was on full display. Those snug-fitting jeans weren’t overtly sexy but the way the denim contoured the slight flare of her narrow thighs as she sat down made him swallow. Hard.
It had been a while since he’d been in the company of any woman who wasn’t a medical professional or intimately involved with his brothers. Also, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had a type and this forward, strong-looking woman fit it right down to that thick wavy brown hair pulled back at the nape of her long sexy neck.